~Chiaroscuro~

Connecting the dots

2010-05-10T16:17:00.000+05:30

http://blog.insideview.com/2010/04/27/connecting-the-dots-how-sales-2-0-can-help-you-connect-with-prospects/

The socks you'd love to get in!

2009-03-02T01:16:00.004+05:30

The sentience of solitude

2009-02-21T22:20:00.003+05:30

Solitude to me came unannounced.

And when it hit me hard, little fragments of me lay all over – trying to crawl back – and then grow wings and fly. While so, I realized solitude gushes in the readiness to perceive sensations of the undifferentiated, elementary consciousness.

The quiescence in the lull of my inky room exhorted helplessly. I would have turned a deaf ear, but I needed someone to talk to. The clock ticked. And staring me in the eye, stole away the dream I had woken up with. I would have fought time, but there is no contending the connivance of the clockwork universe. It tears me apart.

The wind blew the curtains and let in the chaotic sounds of the city, seething with activity. An array of beams made my inky room blush, while the shimmering drops of sun made their way and settled on the coarse, grey surfaces. My dream lingers. Basking in its beauty, I let it consume me. What I wouldn’t do to spiral in and lose in it again!

In a corner lies a paintbrush and colours, calling me to mix them up in a mélange of hues. I heed to their cogent reasons. Out comes a dusty sheet. Plumes of white smoke go up the ceiling, dance with the sunbeams and evanesce. The paintbrush is capricious, but I bend it. It screeches… the paper chafes... I breathe – and the sounds echo.

In a tiny supernova of sorts, the acrylic scatters like ice from a spoon and suffuses the paper. My hands feel numb. The winds carry a chill. The sounds of the city fade. The beams retract, and the little drops of sun vaporize.

…and when I’m done, I hate myself at my inability to draw me a pretty picture. At my inability to paint it all right. The sound of the clock is unceasingly chaotic. True, there is no contending the connivance of the clockwork universe, but my dreams are mine alone… and I spiral in and lose myself again…

Dogs v/s. Humans. (Trust me, this is tight!)

2007-11-01T02:41:00.001+05:30

Humans don't smell someone's genitals when they meet them for the first time, or as a general form of greeting.

~ Dogs 0, Humans 1

When humans piss where they wish to, they’re cruddy. If a dog does that, they mark their territory.

~ Dogs 1, Humans 1

Except for some tribes, you wouldn’t see a rabble when humans have sex. There isn’t any howling/ growling/ barking around. Dogs group together & always try & pull the mates apart. Plus, there is the howling/ growling/ barking.

~ Dogs 1, Humans 2

If your family loves you enough, you don't have to dilate your pupils at meals, wag or woof to nip in a bite or two.

~ Dogs 1, Humans 3

If humans were to lie down on their backs, legs up in the air, their privates on display, there is a fair chance they’d be arrested for indecorous behaviour. When dogs do the same, its only to cool off, or maybe for a scratch.

~ Dogs 2, Humans 3

If you're a human & you sit with your tongue hanging out, that is deviant behavior. When dogs do the same, they are panting.

~ Dogs 3, Humans 3

Oooh… this is tight!

When in a car, if humans drool with their heads hanging out the window, people look away thinking of them as greedy perverts. When dogs do, they draw attention.

~ Dogs 3, Humans 4

Humans can never do it doggie-style, the way a dog does it.

~ Dogs 4, Humans 4

If you're a dog & you eat a human, you're rabid. If you're a human & you eat a dog, you're Chinese.

~ Dogs 4, Humans 5

For a human, at the doctors’, you don’t have to get your ass probed for every little sign of illness.

~ Dogs 4, Humans 6

Puppies look cuter than human babies.

~ Dogs 5 Humans 6

On that subject, as research & stats go, even dog adults look cuter than human adults.

~ Dogs 6 Humans 6

Except for humans who are too lazy to shower once every donkey year, there aren’t any fleas on them.

(I happen to know one such human who does).

~ Dogs 6, Humans 7

Nancy’s about as bitchy as dogs can get.

~ Dogs 7, Humans 7

Didn’t I tell you this was tight?

These kids today!

2007-10-02T01:29:00.000+05:30

ABC of Punjabis

2007-09-19T00:46:00.002+05:30

A is for Adjust, Punjabis will always ask you to adjust whenever they want to push you around.

B is for Backside, and it has nothing to do with your bum, it is an instruction to go to the rear of a building, or block, or shop or whatever.

C is for Cloney and its first name is not George nor is it a process for replicating sheep, it is an area where people live eg. Defence cloney.

D is for Dilliwalas staying in Defence Cloney.

E is for expanditure, and believe me Punjabis are not scared of spending money, the latest cars, marble floors, their ambitions are always expanding.

F is for fackade, and even though it sounds like a bad word it is actually just the front of a building (with backside being the back of building of course).

G is for Gaddi and the way a Punjabi can pilot a car puts any F1driver to shame, if the Grand Prix does come to Delhi there's no way Hamilton, Alonso or Kimi can overtake Balvinder, Jasvinder and Sukhvinder.

H is for Ho Jayega, the moment you hear that, you have to be very careful because you can be reasonably sure its not going to happen.

I is for Intezaar, to know more about it see P.

J is for Jindagi and if there's one person who knows how to live life to the full it's a Punjabi.

K is for Khurana, etc. The Punjabi equivalent of the Jonses i.e., keeping up with the Khuranas.

L is for Lovely but she never is.

M is for Mrooti. The car that moved an entire Punjabi generation.

N is for No problem ji - to find out how that works see H.

O is for Oye which can be surprise (oyye!), a hailing (oyy!), anger (OYY) or pain (Oy Oy Oy).

P is for Panj mint and no matter how near (1 km) or far a Punjabi is from you (100 km) they usually say they'll reach you in panj mint.

Q is for Queue (quow)for which there's really no word in Punjabi.

R is for Riksha, and a Punjabi is always prepared to take one, even if the odds are against them.

S is for Sweetie, Bunty, Pappu and Sonu who seem to own half the cars in Delhi. Just see the rear windscreen.

T is for the official bird of Punjab - Tandoori chicken.

U is for when U lose your sex appeal and become Uncle ji.

V is for VIP phone numbers @ Rs 15 lakh and counting.

W is War on the roads.

X is x-rated words they flow freely in casual conversations on the street.

Y is 'You nonsense!', anger replacing vocabulary in a shouting match.

Z is for Zig-zag for which you should see G, M and P.

Video piracy;Title creativity.

2007-08-28T00:18:00.000+05:30

Del(h)i-rious

2007-01-08T13:22:00.000+05:30

"Eff-Off!"

2006-05-20T20:03:00.000+05:30

In a world of fast money & crammed up spaces, havent we turned we a little too obnoxious? Have we not lost respect for people around us? Should we not respect them, just like we expect them to? Or should we just be another face in the milieu of uncouths?

Is it all these everyday situations which has made us so rude?
Is it time perhaps?
Or indifference?
Ingratitude?
The weather?
Pressure?
Deadlines?

No one knows. Atleast I dont. But would it be genuine to keep it disguised? Is there a valid excuse to be brusque?

I come from a small place in one of the most defamed states in India. Its been close to 6 years since I gave my homeown a visit, but from what I remember, if someone used a swear word, people thought he was barbaric, or maybe a little too outraged to count backwards from 100. Today, everyone is angry. Everyone swears. Rudeness is not a demeanour today, its a sine qua non. Its a carapace we live under. And it saves time.

Seemingly, polite language & manners have been left back at school. Its us, who make a 'please', a 'Sir', a 'thankyou', a 'Aap' sound obsequious. We are busy. We are stressed. But how about thinking twice before you talk to somebody. Being straightforward & forthright is one thing, but if you minus the rules of courtesy, it becomes obnoxious.

Let the rare moment of candour pass. Probably none of us would admit we are rude. Its really hard to judge yourself on that now, isnt it? For people who do admit, cheers for getting it off your chest!

As someone rightly said, rudeness is the weak man's imitation of strength.

I Bow To Dancers.

2006-04-01T17:53:00.000+05:30

So its a party. Drinks, cola, snacks, music. Who wouldn't love any of that?

But some freak messes up with the music volume & another freak yells out: "Oh! I love that song!".

Alright, chill! I'll sing along for you.

But then, I lose it when a third freak shouts from the rooftops: "Lets dance!". And everyone joins the chief in that weird act of sortilege.

I remember, I did try to dance once. It turned out to be a mujra of sorts. And tonight, I'm in no mood to embarrass myself or others. Its food instead, which piques my interest. So here, I'll make my molars, canines & incisors dance for you.

But then, right then, when I think I cant stand the shindig any longer, the thumps & treble doing the pancreas' act for me, a fourth freak pulls me & drags me to the floor where rays & beams flicker, and I go blind. Somebody hits me all over, but I forgive them for the scary spell they are under. Then a point blank scream. I'm obviously deaf and mute as well, thanks to the thwacks, but its understood freak#4 wants me to join everyone in the act.

Its a freaky party. All normal people turn into freaks, when they feel the urge to dance.

I look around, trying to learn as much as I could, before I embarrass everyone with the little I know and the little I can. And I'll leave at that.

Its an art, I tell you. people who cant dance are extremely jealous of ones who can, and ones who do. I mean seriously, you move your hands, feet, pelvis, perhaps all the damn pivots at the same time! Its witchcraft, for Chris'sake!

Me, I find it physically impossible.

*Bows humbly*

Rang De Basanti - a thought

2006-03-20T13:18:00.000+05:30

They could never sift out the nonsense & improbable relationship with the real & contemporary lives from Indian cinema. Last week, I purchased some DVDs, and when I came back home, made me some coffee, pulled down the curtains, turned on the volume, it was RDB inside the Narnia cover. Lazily lying down, I cursed the DVD-waala, but since I had nothing better to do, & with all the hype & hoopla about the movie, I decided to watch it anyway. And while they sang "Paathshaala", I wondered...

To tersely opine about it, a group of very adorable but confused young people, ambivalent & aimless, suddenly dramatically change, not by a realisation of systemic wrong, but due to a personal mishap. I'll spare you the story, but here's the thing - they get away (not until later) with shooting down the Defence Minister, & they do that with no military training, & security impedimenta are defied like child's play. A revolution follows, & forms the very axis of the movie, but though a revolution may be provoked by an experience of personal injustice, doesn't it essentially speak for the masses? Weren't the freedom fighters of India vanguards of a mass-based uproar rather than solo performers?

OK, before I meander to something more intricate, could they defy the security at India Gate and sing out "Paathshaala", whilst happily gulping down beer in an open jeep?
From my experience, me and my friends had to spend an hour inside a thana when one of us got a little too impatient & popped open a beer can at a Mayur Vihar red light, inside a car with dark windows at 6 pm on a normal evening and were spotted. I could never imagine doing the same at India Gate.

Still, its an enjoyable movie according to Indian Standards. And so much for Bollywood, we are obliged faute de mieux.

Loo musings

2006-03-20T11:26:00.000+05:30

Firstly, for people satisfied with their busy, purposeful lives, let me rephrase the topic to "Loo musings of an idle bloke", coz as you read on, the subject turns polemical.

I have been sitting idle for quite some time now, & between awaiting my results to looking for a job, from finding a job to awaiting my date to join, a rather depressing thought has come into my mind.

Why am I here? Why are we all here? Do we really have a purpose? While some might argue that we are here to make this world a better place, I say bullshit. While some might accept that we are here to make the world a better place for us, I ask you, have we done it any good yet? De facto, we dwell, consume everything around us, pullulate to the brink, start squabbling about it & to survive, dwell around a new corner & the cycle goes on.

This is about the purpose of life, & how we make it look like a travesty. Why was man evolved out of a microbe? Why did we turn into the smartest species of all? Or was it per se? Why have we always been so greedy & hungry? Has it always been about survival?

We begin with toys, study for half our rotten lives, work to earn some money, get married & die eventually. Is that what the purpose of life is? Accepted, some have ambitions, some have dreams, some are pertinacious & lucky to achieve either or both. Yet, as such minuscule creatures in the whole wide universe, are we making a point? Are we all travelling on a downward spiral that becomes more and more narrow as it progresses? A spiral, the end of which is a tiny dot? Is there a supreme power watching us? (No arguments on that please!) Or are we mere marionettes? Look at what we have done to everything around us!

Yet, life goes on, and for now, I'll go get some grub. Like I titled it, these are only loo musings (of an idle bloke).

*Burp*

'Holika Dahan'

2006-03-15T11:42:00.000+05:30

The festival of colours is here. A splash here, a splash there, delicacies, friends, a get together, cricket, bhaang, a late night walk & a slumber that you can only enjoy once an year. For me, there was more to Holi than everything I just said.

As a kid, I enjoyed Holi eve called 'Holika Dahan' more than the real thing. Let me spare you the history behind it, but believe me, it was exciting.

At around 7 pm on Holi eve, youngsters in our colony would start collecting wood, fuel or anything even semi-combustible & make a heap (more like a well-structured pyramid) in a corner close to the huge playground. Its funny how the tradition had passed from generations, with the responsibility passing on from elders to the new kids on the block. I always wanted to join them & lend them a voluntary hand to build up the structure stick by stick. But my comrades and me had to wait till we were 'big enough' & to our chagrin, had to content with watching & waving from the window.

Our time did come in another couple of years. It was fun to act like responsible adults. As the tradition ran, we collected wood, fuel or anything even semi-combustible & made a heap (more like a well-structured pyramid) in a corner close to the huge playground. Since we had the muscle power available in the form of some sturdy volunteers, I remember us dragging an old fallen tree to the spot as well. While some donated generously, some shut doors at our faces. Misusing muscle power was against the rule, so after much convincing and mollifying, we chose to go by the book.

By around 11, the structure all set, we returned for dinner, while some kept watch.

And by 12, it was showtime! Even the memory of the moment still excites me. An adult used to light up the base, and we would clap, dance around & laugh out loud. Oh, what a sight it was, the moon dancing in the lake, the chill of the night, the warmth of the fire, the sparks disappearing into the starlit sky and gossipping with friends over roasted chana right out of the embers. The time just flew by sitting there, all our worries going up in smoke and a feeling of togetherness keeping us warm.

The team was particularly tired & sleepy, so after exchanging good nights, we were back home & off to bed.

And the next day:

"Trrrrrriiiiinnnng!", rang the doorbell.

Screams....

Splash!

"Holi Hai!!!"

In & out of love

2006-03-13T10:33:00.000+05:30

A lot has been said and written on one of the most complex human phenomena called 'love', & yet, no one knows why we fall in love, or fall out of it.

Subsumed under 'love' is a mother's love for her child, a patriot's love for his country, a messiah's love for his folk & everything which encompasses a selfless act of adulation. For me, thats love in its purest immaculate form.

I am no doctor here to talk of enzymes, stimulus or the brain segment which causes it. But all I want to say is for people 'falling in love' with each other, its only a facade. A charade which is always mutual. They gain some - lose some, give some - take some. The verity so goes, we are all greedy for some support. Its never enough for us. We cling on to each other like symbiotic parasites, & when the sweet stuff is all over, let loose.
Its human, & I'm no log here. But for people in love, they'd always demur.

I have seen people going crazy - laughing it up, crying it out, ambivalent & pertinaciuous. Something was always right & concomitantly something was always wrong. It was spicy. It was exciting. I was always in a quandary, wondering if they were on either side of the thin line which divides being dissatisfied & being unsatisfied. But like I said, its only a facade. No sooner, ennui uproots the blossoming flower, & everything withers away to a salvo of expletives.

So heres the point:
Deep inside, we are greedy.
Deep inside, we crave for attention.
Deep inside, we need another brain to dump our garbage.
Deep inside, we are only a species who yearn to mate.

But 'love', so to speak, is only a primordial human impulse. And thats the way we lose paradise. Or in some cases, seize it.

To Sir

2006-02-18T18:08:00.000+05:30

I would have started about, and lets admit it, how everyone curses someone who has caused them pain. Sometimes, really meaning it. But then, do we really mean it? Halt! To respect ratiocination & to give it a foreground, here goes my story:

Back in school, life was good. And though discipline was pilloried, it was respected. A pat on the back, a whack on the bum, or a mention in the school assembly (fame or defame) was celebrated with equal aplomb. And looking back today, I feel my school days couldn't have been better. Everything was immaculate.

Everything but Sir Antony.

He joined school when I was in Class VII. A short man with big black eyes, in his early 30s, handsome, had an air around him which made him look redoubtable. He started teaching us English in class IX. And when he introduced himself in his first class, well, if you asked me an hour later, I couldn't recall anything & I still cant, except that he was a boxer at college. He was married with a kid, & his wife was expecting another one.
Soon, our halcyon days came to a grinding halt. We were introduced to a whole new meaning of punishment. Sir Antony would serve us anything from his smorgasbord of tortures. From an armpit pinch to making us write a composition (he called it "imposition") a thousand times, from wringing the ear to making us stand out in the sun with our hands up for hours. Guess he was too blase` about the old stick. It was genocide.

And whats worse, he had his eye on me.

I have always been a backbencher; it gives you the space & range to be puckish & do the things you like. You are the unnoticed prodigy, & you enjoy it that ways.

Not with Sir Antony. As it turned out, Sir had a weird proclivity to swagger around the last row, and as long as it was his class, time paused, the spine chilled, heads hung low & the pen ran across the pages fearing to stop. Everyone went numb. We started envying the front benches - they had a ball all the while.

As if out of habit, I expected him to slap, spank & pinch me for no apparent reason. Everyday. He was a bit too rash for a 16 year old, and I wont deny, it did hurt a lot. Let me keep the details out of this, but he never missed a chance to disparage me if I ever forgot to get the book. He would go apoplectic with rage if I dropped a pencil, & what I'd only assume to be catharsis, his rage fell on me like a sword. He made me pick leaves on the playground twice, coz I stayed out a minute too long during my lunch break, but I dont complain about that. As long as I was away from him, it was harmony.

And I cussed him within, wishing he was dead. Everyone did.

I languished, and school got over for me an year later. With some of my classmates planning a vengeance, I chose to move ahead, & I shifted base to Delhi. Years have gone now, & minus the time when we friends met, Sir Antony was a forgotten story. The vengeance plan turning out to be quixotic, or maybe a pipe dream, life sailed on smooth for all of us.

A couple of months back, the news coming as a bolt, we heard it from the horse's mouth. He had passed away. It was a cardiac arrest.

Was it comeuppance? Was I to blame? Was it the innumerable curses? Did he deserve to die?

No he did not. Did I tell you he was a good teacher who knew what he was teaching? Did I tell you he was an aficionado? Did I tell you he praised me when I scored best in class? Did I tell you he lost to me on purpose when we arm wrestled in a free period? Did I tell you he was the heavy-weight boxing champion at college? Did I tell you he called up home one day to tell my parents he was proud of me? Did I tell you I never once forgot to carry my books ever again? Did I tell you I still pick up strayed leaves when no ones watching?

Sometimes, the arcane is presumed to be egregious - the overt enshrouds the covert. But for what its worth, its every ounce of pain worth it.

This is for you Sir. I respect you for everything you are. Thank you for making me the man I am today.

A stranger I know

2006-01-14T08:59:00.000+05:30

I begin my day with a cigarette. 'Coz as they say, the best things are to be done when your mind is fresh.

So out I go. Its 7 am. The fresh air beats on my face, the aroma of coffee fills up the air, there is dew on the verdant greens, birds chirp, the warmth of sunlight, a puppy plays with a calf, the children get ready for school & the people get ready for a busy day.

The cigarette vendor hands me out my brand, we talk a bit while I light it up. The first cigarette makes my day, & since I don't like to be disturbed having my first drag on a new day, I walk down to a quiet street, sit like a king on a raised platform & enjoy every sweet puff down to my lungs.

For the umpteenth time in 300 Bangalore mornings, this man walks up to me, wishing me, in his own typical repertoire:

"Good morning boss!".

And this is how the conversation goes:

"Morning", I say, trying to sound polite.

"Lovely day"

"Yeah". I subconsciously reply, the cigarette stealing most of my focus.

"Coffee?"

Is that an invitation? I wonder, and give him a surreptitious glance. "I had my cup."

"I didn't", he takes a pause. "Could you give me 2 Rs?", he says, probably taking delight in my discomfiture.

"Why? Don't you earn? You seem to be in good shape to work. So why don't you?", I take a drag.

A glance on my cigarette clutching hand, "Do you have another cigarette? Could you buy me one?", he says coaxingly.

I wouldn't have declined honestly, but I cant go about buying stuff for accosting strangers. Besides, I was not carrying my wallet.

"No"

And off he walks away, as if in a stupor.

And thats the way it has been, since the past 10 months.

5 years back, as my cigarette vendor tells me, he was a responsible conscientious husband, a caring father of two & a dedicated garage owner. He started drinking around the same time, frittered away all his money on hitting the bottle & gambling, and abandoned his family. Whats worse, he got hit by a car one night & has a short term memory problem. And when I say short term, his memory lasts for a day or a half. He cannot make fresh memories. He might not even remember me tomorrow when he asks me for 2 Rs, yet again. For someone who has seen the movie "Memento", he'd understand better. Its actually hard to believe - I mean you see that kinda stuff in movies - & I did have my qualms about him faking it. But then I look him in the eye everyday, & I never once discern the slightest smidgeon of recognition.

And so it goes the next morning:

"Good morning boss!"...

Education - No longer a passion

2005-11-13T13:26:00.000+05:30

I read a report recently that BPO businesses are planning to recruit students right out of Class XII. Its disturbing & sounds too real. I have worked in a BPO for sometime, & I have seen the people there. Working at an executive level hardly gives you any exposure. India is a country rich in cheap and available labour, and everything has a market here. But a spectre of an army of corporate citizens is a cause for concern for those who care about the state of our education & people like me, who are still hunting for jobs that fit their finesse.

Our country is changing at an extraordinary pace. But in the shindig about numerous shopping malls & markets, roads & highways, services, airports & towns, we are perhaps ignoring the cornerstone on the development agenda - investment in human capital.

Every 4th person I meet plans to either do an MBA or a course in IT, acting or modelling. Tersely put, something that would flood their bank accounts in the shortest time possible. While some overtly describe their ambitions to earn money (couldn't get anymore direct), some covertly say they want to be successful, learn more & deliver to the best of their capabilities & increase their 'market value'. Its as different as cod & caviar! Even I plan to do an MBA, but so to speak, this is the new paradigm that is implicitly acknowledged in any discussion. Everyone craves for success, and success here subsumes the rather stronger ambition - money. Power only follows suit.

My father is a Political Science professor. I have known him to have a penchant for his subject. He was a bright student & could have chosen a la dolce vita, had it been for him. But education for him is an endeavour to elevate one's level of consciousness to the point where one is able to embark on a journey to self-development & self-fulfilment.

I am too young to be saying things have changed, but I guess they have. Indeed, students pursuing Arts subjects at public schools here are objects of derision. Even I mocked at students of Literature, History, Political Science, Philosophy, Hindi & Natural Sciences. No reasonably bright student is expected to take up these subjects for the sake of knowledge. Well, what good is doing a graduation in any of these, when all you plan to do is take an MBA entrance test? Does it help? Is it even remotely related?

Essentially for the middle class, an absolute educational reform is a must. Tinkering with the system wont help. We need a revolution. Something that would open up new vistas, bringing the system back on track.

Hi!

2005-08-31T17:33:00.000+05:30

Hi! Here I am, unfolded for you. Adjectives that describe me : Wicked, dirty, naughty, lovable, filthy, cranky, hated, player, sporty for crimes, unsporty for lies, flipper, cusser, preacher, trendy, evil, gamer, puckish, rockstar, sucker, atheist when I fail, practical, unpredictable, crazy, dreamer, rich , broke, paranoid, student, rebel, lecher, lover, laidback, thug....

I love to sleep. Actually I am a day-dreamer. They say I'm a good listener, but dont buy that. Often surrounded by friends. When alone, I like to sit under a shady tree, whistle to the dogs, look @ the birds & sing aloud a cheap Hindi song. So that makes me a nature lover too. Crowned as the wittiest one in town. But deep down, I'm a little poetic (although nobody acknowledges that). Would love to pen on anything from a cleft stick to the echoes of a distant playing flute. Manage to make a rapport with anybody who is even mildly amusing. Keep away from boring ones. Always a little hungry. Nothing fills that void!
Profession??? Umm... In the making. Have become a little ambitious in the past.